Date: Fri, 6 Aug 2010 10:32:15 +0000 (GMT)
From: DAVID WILSON <david.wilson136@btinternet.com>
Subject: The Sound of Breaking Glass

I grew up in a small prefab bungalow with a tin roof that thrummed in the
rain, and with white painted aluminium walls that showered snow when my
hand brushed over forgotten corners. Built at the end of WW2, they were not
badly equipped, with a simple washing machine, fridge and a cosy coke fire
with doors that made the living room snug.

I had scraped through my 11-plus and mum was pleased as punch that I was
headed for Grammar School, but for me it was a place of hard lessons,
bullying and a long bus ride both ways preceded by a half-hour walk. The
consolation was my friend John, who lived round the corner and came back
and forth with me. We were both slim thirteen year olds and had discovered
the fun of playing strip poker when we arrived back after afternoon school
and the house was empty. We laughed at our rocket erections and when we
played the game in the woods in Summer, raced naked through the trees,
loving every minute.

John had a few more pubic hairs than I did, - mine were hardly visible, and
I had to ask him if he could spunk yet. He claimed he could and I asked him
how did he achieve this delicious state?

'Just keep rubbing,' was his answer!

I was sad to learn that John's family were emigrating to Australia, and our
games had not gone far- just some touching and looking. At school, because
we were seated alphabetically and my surname started with 'W', there were
lots of cock shows going on under cover of the desks, and competitions to
see who could shoot again after 15 minuted rest (behind the playing field
changing rooms). But I was shy, and tended only to observe from a distance.


Now a year had gone by and I was just 14 - my birthday was in June, but I
was still finding it hard to get on with Step-dad, who was a remote figure
who often disappeared to his allotment - more so when mum got ill with
T.B. and Asthma and often was in hospital for weeks. Sometimes I was farmed
out to relatives, but at this time we were coping on our own.

The coke fire was great at providing lots of hot water for baths, and I
used to sneak in with a long mirror that had come off the wardrobe in my
bedroom. As I undressed, I would dance around sexily rubbing nipples, ass
and balls, as suddenly I had become very sensuous- I also loved to come in
halfway through Step-dad's bath, knocking and asking to use the loo. He
hastily put a flannel over his privates, but often I would see his hairy
bush and equally hairy chest glistening with soap. Showers at school were a
treat too, but you had to be careful who saw you looking, and I hated gym
and, worse, cold, wet rugby.

There was also Step-dad's allotment, where you could go scrumping and I
enjoyed running naked and undetected through his Redcurrant bushes ! There
was one disadvantage - you had to go through the chicken run to get there,
and the cockerel always spread his wings, put his head down and opened his
claws as soon as I had opened the gate- it was the fastest twenty yard dash
I ever made !

One day I'd seen Step-dad struggling along walking next to his bicycle
which had on it a heavy, large, thick wood box. He explained it was a cold
frame for encouraging young seedlings in early Spring. It was very awkward
- in danger of sliding off the frame and seat on which it was precariously
balanced.

Next weekend we had visitors, an older couple in their fifties whom I had
stayed with while mum was ill.

Their son Richard thought I was a complete wimp - and showed off all the
time I was there, even the first night kicking off his slippers and sending
one sailing straight through the bedoom window. The next Sunday the whole
family and myself had to watch as Richard prostrated himself wearing just
his y-fronts on the living room floor. His burly railway worker dad removed
his belt and, although I had admired Richard's pert white bum, I could
hardy look or listen as his dad thrashed his ass severely. But Richard did
not yell or cry- he was no wimp!

Soon after they arrived I scuttled out of the house into the back garden,
and there was the cold frame resting on the grass, and obviously still
empty. Stupid me still lifts the heavy lid, and I watch in horror and dread
as the glass falls down, stands upright all on its own for a brief second,
and then topples to earth with a sickening crash. I'm in a complete stomach
churning panic. I run to the garden fence, climbing over into the little
wilderness that leads to the allotments - I disappear, fearing to see or
hear an angry Step-dad calling me back.


I only returned as it was getting dark, the visitors had left, and I come
in saying;

'Bob, I'm really, really sorry'...but to my utter amazement, Step-dad is not
cross- he only says

'You'll be punished on Sunday', and with that cycles off to the pub.

I did loads of things to make up- kept my room tidy, helped with the drying
up;- kept altogether a low profile. I was grounded to my room on Sunday and
had some prisoner's lunch brought in - about an hour later I hear a few
male voices arriving,with laughter and the sound of beer bottles being
opened. Then step-dad appeared with a folded over cloth, and without a word
he puts it on me as a blindfold. He puts his hand on the back of my neck
and I stumble forward to the living room.

'Put your hands on your head and tell what you did wrong.'

It was a long, apologetic,'it was only an accident description'.

Silence followed.

And as i felt a few pairs of eyes looking at me I felt my cock stir in my
briefs and had to think of a maths problem quickly to get rid of it.

'How many spanks do you think you deserve?'

I thought carefully-was this a trick question?  Hesitantly I replied 'Six.'
Some laughter followed.

'Yes,Six is right -six on the left buttock, six on the right, given to you
bare by each of us four.'


'But wait;... thats...48, isn't that rather too many?'

But the last words were lost as I was bundled to the floor, my tee, jeans
and briefs rudely removed, my legs thrown over my head and my knees forced
either side of my head. Now I knew what a trussed chicken felt like.

Someone had picked up the briefs.

'Look, there's skid marks in his skivvies- someone look close at his arse -
I'm not spanking a dirty one!'

Fingers suddenly spread my cheeks and widened my boy hole.

'More fluff than a stuffed Bunny!

'Someone, get soap and water.'

I heard the tap run, then someone nearby was noisily soaping their hands. A
very hard, wet spank landed on me, left and right before they circled round
the globes. Then a finger slid up and down my ass crack, circled my boyhole
and startled me by going inside me! 'No,' I protested, but by this time
soapy hands worked over my cock and balls, and my willy grew rapidly as a a
result.

I was hauled upright, still dripping.

'Who'd like first turn?'

They still held on to me, bending down my head, and forcing my arms up my
back - my wet arse was ready, and a meaty hand laid into it, causing me to
gasp and protest, but to no avail, and six on the left and six on the right
had me hopping in agony and rubbing my butt when I was released.

'Next!'

I am dragged mercilessly over a pair of knees; presumably the guy wears
shorts as I can feel something bunched up next to me and my shrivelled cock
feels hairy, warm thighs brushing it. A hand circles my butt and then
fingers explore my entrance hole and slide between my legs to tickle my
balls and play with my cock shaft. Willy quickly responds. But I'm still
shocked when the hand goes back to my hole and a finger goes in further
than before, and John and I never explored this side of things!

But the pleasure soon turns to pain, as my legs are forced apart and
stinging blows rain down on already tender flesh.

'Ow, stop, no, please, thats enough!'

But my protests are in vain and my hand which goes back to rub my red hot
cheeks and protect them is painfully pushed up by my shoulder blades. Hot
tears drip from my blindfold.

Afterwards he puls me to sit on his lap and cuddles my sobbing self, after
a while reaching for my cock helmet and squeezing it and it slowly,
responds and hardens. But this I learn is a trick; someone else grabs my
hard shaft, and asks for help putting me upside down over his stretched out
legs, arse up. He holds painfully to my cock while delivering rapid
staccato blows onto my oh so tender backside. I blubber and curse, but the
punishment does not pause or diminish and I collapse onto my arms at the
end, exhausted and unsure what bits of me need rubbing and comforting most.

A hand encircles and hugs me.

'Cheer up!, last spank. And its only six more - your Step-dad will use
Jim's wide leather belt and that reaches both sides at once!'

Immediately I am grabbed again and forced over a low stool with a cushion
on top. My arms and legs are pinioned. The swish of the belt through the
air reminds me of Richard's harsh beating, but unlike him I yell, bawl, and
feel my ass is on fire - I can imagine the thick stripes will be there for
all to see for a week.I do not get up; I cannot.

After a while, an arm encircles me tenderly and I'm asked if I have managed
a full wank yet. I shake my head negatively and someone very gently puts
cream on my bum that feels cool, other hands play with my cock, which very
slowly responds, and someone cups my balls from between my legs.

A slippery finger enters me slowly and slides back and forth,and someone
seeks out my lips and kisses me tenderly. This all continues for a few
minutes and slowly increases in intensity.

Suddenly a feeling at the base of my balls shudders through me, and with a
great shout, my first spunk shoots out.

'Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, Yes!'

They put me to bed on my tummy, and before they close my bedroom door,
someone whispers

'See you next month!'

Revised 1/8/10, Cotswold Cowboy